jozi is...

...big. seriously.

...the skyline from my balcony.

...highway - mall - highway - mall - highway...etc.

...surprisingly, trees. lots of trees.

...nothing without chinatown.

...spending a fortune on taxi cabs. but also finding that one driver who charges with absolute empathy.

...conversations with taxi drivers about jozi back in their day - seeing snippets of the past through the eyes of the people.

...being paranoid about walking home after dark. keeping two locks on the front gate. only to find that your house mate has been stealing from your bedroom all along.

...driving home with flirtatious police to take said house mate to jeppe police station.

...finding perfect pasteis de nata in a portuguese pastry store on queen street.

...being anonymous enough to sing 'price tag' out loud on the walk from work.

...meeting a blind man who pushes his wheelchair-bound friend around the hilly suburb of kensington.

...driving from sandton to kensington and getting lost in alex along the way.

...similarly - driving to and around lesotho without a problem - and then getting lost for an hour in downtown jozi on the way back.

...the carlton centre.

...that statue of the pink pig on a roof close to the inner city.

...taking an entirely impromptu trip to swaziland and mozambique. in one weekend.

lastly, my favourite -

...being greeted by strangers on the street.

prelude to a post

i am not fond of statistics, but:

i moved to johannesburg 136 days ago. i have spent 91 of those days, including weekends, at work.

i am 24 years old and i have 24 grey hairs. the number of grey hairs on my head correlate with the number of weekends i have spent at the office instead of exploring johannesburg.

i feel the need to counter these troubling statistics with words. i need to write about what jozi has meant to me in the past 136 days despite the daily grind and grey hairs.

there was a time in my life when the only grey hairs i noticed covered my grandmother's head. when we visited her in iran, one of my highest priorities was to walk to the corner store and buy turkish "love is" bubblegum. each chewy cube came wrapped in a liner that made a curious proclamation about love. i would collect pieces of what "love is" in my pocket throughout the holiday.

in a similar vein, older me wants to collect pieces of jozi in her pocket - to write of moments that resonate with my definition of johannesburg. to remind me of my transient place in this city. hence, this post.

the writings on the stall

i have a thing for finding wisdomosity in everyday spaces. a couple nights ago i was at the bohemian in melville and i was captivated by the writing on the walls of the women's toilet:

the dream world seeks a reality of its own and it will break free.

[a letter addressed to a (former?) lover. names witheld.]
grow up, when you you, don't call me, by then i'll be dead/ancient/old. i loved, learnt to live with the hurt and never regretted. it's getting late. the sun has gone down - i can't wait for you that long.
i did love you.

to thine own self be true.

(fieldnotes, 7 january)